saw it off and conceal it
well.
fill every obelisk
and monument with the trash
that all this trash
has assassinated
as the product of an exponent
to the power of zero.
darkened corners
obscured by buildings stories of
stories in themselves rest as a confession booth.
each moment of history is the action
of confessing it’s forthcoming.
and by the tide
of swaying political fervor, history will be
over-written and cleansed of facts.

wash it off the steps,
block it off with a fence.

remember this moment
and fake everything you say.
or some day you’ll find yourself
in the wrong periphery
at the wrong position of time.